pretty sure I don’t have a concussion,” she said, wincing as she lifted her fingers to touch the tender lump on her head. “And feeling nauseated would be a given, considering the way the ship’s been rolling for the past who knows how many hours.”
“True.” He shot her that smile that made her feel a little weak in the knees. “I’m Ezekiel Edwards, by the way. Friends call me Zeke.”
“Jordan Flynn.”
“I know. Fletcher Station’s doctor.” He nodded. “I’m a marine biologist and climatologist. PhD. Also a trained medic, so you can trust me to take care of your head.”
“How do you know I’m the station’s doctor?”
“Saw your name on the roster. And okay, true confessions.” That quick smile again. “Someone on this ship told me the doctor on board was drop-dead gorgeous, and as soon as I saw you in the hall earlier, I knew it had to be you.”
“Is this your usual chitchat when you meet a woman?” She rolled her eyes, not even close to surprised about that, then regretted it when it made her head hurt worse.
He chuckled. “It’s just nice to finally meet you.” He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and kneeled in front of her, lifting her chin to look in her eyes.
“Honestly, I don’t have a concussion.”
“How do you know? Do you usually recite nursery rhymes just for the hell of it?”
“Actually, yes. It was something my parents taught me to do when I felt worried about something, or if I was hurt, to distract me.” And right now, she seemed to need a distraction from his chiseled features and sexy lips and the manly way he smelled, way more than from her bruised body and the movement of the boat.
“Huh. That’s a new one.” He gave her a crooked smile as his thumb moved from her chin and slipped across her cheek before dropping away. “Lean your head down so I can see what’s going on with your injury.”
His mouth was so close to her face she could feel his warm breath on her skin as his fingers gently moved through her hair. Her heart beat a little faster, and she had a bad feeling it was from his nearness and not her injuries. If she lifted her head back up, her lips would be in the perfect position to come into contact with his and…and…
Not happening, she reminded herself, scowling at how stupid she was being. She didn’t even know the man. Why was she feeling this serious attraction in the middle of a storm while she had a busted-open head? Maybe she had a concussion, after all. Or brain damage.
“It’s not too bad,” Zeke said as his fingers touched around the rest of her scalp, obviously looking for more lumps or cuts, his voice a deep rumble against her face. “I have some derma glue, which will fix it right up.”
“I have some, too. In that blue box on the bed.”
“Good. I need to get this washed first. Sit tight while I get some stuff.”
Sitting in the corner with the boat moving side to side made her stomach decide to complain even more. Probably it had something to do with her bruises and bleeding, too, but either way, it was bad. Bad that she felt sick, and bad that it was looking like she just might vomit right in front of the world’s sexiest man.
Her eyes popped open in horror at the thought. Wildly, she looked around to see if there was something, anything, within reach she could barf into before he got back. Relief filled her chest when she saw a metal trash can sliding a few inches across the floor as the boat rolled again, and she stretched over as far as she could, desperately wiggling her fingers to try to grab the rim. Before she could get her hand on it, Zeke came back into the room and she stared up at him, a full-blown panic starting to fill her chest over the situation.
“Um… Can you…go away…and…come back in a little bit?”
That smile she’d already fallen for slowly stretched his mouth until his teeth shone white against his dark skin. “Feeling seasick? In a storm like this, that’s totally normal. Not to mention you’re hurt, which also can make you queasy, as I’m sure you know. Here.”
He set the stuff he was carrying on the floor and put the trash can in her hands. She glared at him as her stomach roiled. Swallowing hard, she knew she couldn’t control it much longer. “Can’t you see I need some privacy? Go away, please!”
“Don’t worry. I’ve seen plenty of sick people on this exact boat. No point in fighting it. You’ll feel better, then I’ll get your head fixed up.”
“I don’t—” Oh, Lord, she couldn’t hold it back any longer, totally mortified as she got sick into the can.
He stroked her hair, rubbed her back, talking the whole time in a soothing voice. She wasn’t sure what he said, and also wasn’t sure if his sweetness endeared him to her even more or made her want to hit him for not leaving her alone like she’d asked. What a way to get to know a guy.
Except she didn’t want to get to know him, right? Trying to think of this horror as a potentially positive thing, she gave up trying to hold it back and got sick all over again.
Finally, the awful feeling subsided. She went to wipe her mouth, avoiding looking at him, and he tucked a damp cloth into her hand along with a tin of mints. He disappeared with the trash can and she was torn between feeling beyond embarrassed he was having to play nurse, and grateful that he was getting rid of the mess. In minutes, he was back and reaching into the box he’d brought.
“You feeling up to me cleaning your head? I can wait if you’re not ready.”
“Ready.” Or as ready as she was going to be, with his body so close and his hands touching her, her embarrassment warring with a quivery feeling that had nothing to do with being tossed around the boat or with feeling sick and being injured.
With a last swipe of the cloth across her mouth, she popped one of the mints. Feeling marginally better, and glad to have minty fresh breath instead of the prior awful taste in her mouth, she leaned her head against the wall to let him take care of the first aid she needed. Whatever he’d put on the gauze stung as he cleaned the wound. He obviously knew what he was doing, working slowly and gently, but she still couldn’t help but wince.
“Hang in there. I know it hurts. Almost done with this part. Then I’ll glue it.”
“Why do you have derma glue?”
“Did you think I was lying when I said I’m a trained medic?”
“I…forgot. Did you become a medic first, then decide to get your PhDs in marine biology and whatever else you said? Or the other way around?” she asked, as much to distract herself as because she wanted to know.
“I grew up in a place where knowing first aid came in handy.” That seemed like an odd answer, and just as she was going to ask him what he meant, he continued. “Now I spend a lot of time in potentially dangerous waters and up mountain ranges and glaciers, like here in Antarctica. Cuts on coral, and bites and stings from sea life, or falls and other injuries, happen sometimes despite good planning. You better know what to do to treat yourself, or the people with you.”
She nodded, and he cursed in response. “Hold still. I’m about to put the glue on now to close it. The cut’s barely an inch long, so won’t take but a second. Don’t. Move.”
She steeled herself, but didn’t need to because she didn’t feel a thing. “Thanks so much for everything. I…really appreciate it. Trying to clean it and glue it myself wouldn’t have been easy.”
“Hopefully, I won’t need your assistance the same way, Dr. Flynn, but we never know, do we?” He gave her another knee-weakening smile before he stood, his legs wide to keep his balance. “Stay put for a minute. I’m going to move everything off the lower bunk and secure it somewhere else, so you can sleep there instead of the top bunk.”
She opened her mouth to protest, because some of the equipment was delicate. If